𝐵𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 | 𝒟.𝑀.

24 | ﴾ There Can Be No One Else ﴿

The sunlight danced across the black walls, vainly attempting to bring any type of life back to the manor. The night before had been so intensely draining that even long after I had been awake my body refused to move. My limbs were perfectly deadweight, the bed was soft and breezy.

He was a Death Eater and so was his entire family. Were the Fawley's also Death Eaters? The Parkinson's? The Greengrass's? I had willingly participated in a ball to celebrate the rising up of the dark lord with dozens of Death Eaters leering behind metal and smoke masks. The recognition that I was deplorable at best for not standing up against any of it just because I was frightened made me dread getting up even more. I wouldn't be able to look at myself in the mirror. My parents were surely going to disown me after that if they already hadn't.

Draco's breath on my cheeks forced my eyes wide open and I had to blink at least 10 times to clear the fog from my puffy eyes. My face was buried deep into his grey sweater. Of course I hadn't stayed on my own side. My arm was up under his shirt, tugging at his bare rib cage, my nose in his neck. I panicked internally with the dawning realization and stayed perfectly still, trying to gauge his level of awareness. Perhaps I could remove my leg from around him and somehow slip my hand away before he noticed the affectionate cuddling.

One minute I'm about to sucker punch him and the next I'm snaking my hands up under his clothing, that's not confusing at all. I was livid with myself for not having gone and slept on the floor or the large desk chair.

His mouth was turned against my forehead like he was kissing me, the warm air from his nose blowing into my hairline. Not great. The sheer percentage of skin contact that needed to be separated conspicuously was far from promising.

I began with my hand, unclenching the tight grasp around his ribs. I moved to slide down his navel towards the bottom of his sweater. My fingers traced slowly on his smooth skin as I held my breath.

"As tantalizing as that is," he suddenly whispered, "it's kind of hard to get in the mood when we were just fighting hours ago." He leaned his head back to make eyebrows down at me and I ripped my hand out of his shirt feeling my face glow red hot.

"In your dreams," was all I could squeak out.

"How did you know? Was I talking in my sleep." He laughed dryly, looking tired but amused, "I'm not the one with my hands up someone else's clothing."

I scowled at him. He snorted, "Or with my dress pulled up." I followed his blue eyes down to where my leg was wrapped over his body, the extremely short nightgown had risen up to my waist showing off my athletic thighs, and probably my undergarments as well.

"Oh mon dieu!" I sat bolt right up, dying of embarrassment. I tugged at the dress until it was more acceptably doing it's job of covering my skin.

"It was a nice view, not that I'm complaining," he drawled, rubbing his face awake, "If you want hate sex you don't have to act so sheepish about it."

I stood, pulling at the night dress more, "If I wanted 'ate sex, I would go find an actual man. Maybe Potter could 'elp me out dere." I had gone too far, and we'd only just woken up. His eyes widened with an insidious glare that could melt glass.

He was off the bed in seconds gripping my shoulders so tight I thought my collarbone would snap, "You will never show that kind of disloyalty, especially not to stoop so low as with the likes of Potter!" I thought for sure he would slap me, "If you do, my father won't waste a second decapitating you for your disgrace, if he's lucky enough to beat me to it," He was so furious I instantly regretted the comment.

"Okay, okay, I was but joking," I lied, looking into his distressed expression, willing the straps of my nightgown to stop slipping down in his grasp, "I won' do dat. Wit' anyone." I gave him a reassuring nod.